


Keep You Reaching

by voleuse



Category: Pirates of the Caribbean
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-04-20
Updated: 2004-04-20
Packaged: 2017-10-07 06:26:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/voleuse/pseuds/voleuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Home isn't something you can find.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Keep You Reaching

**Author's Note:**

> Written after the first movie. Title taken from Fiona Apple's "Slow Like Honey," headings taken from Pablo Neruda's _Sonnet XIX_.

**_i. while the huge seafoam of isla negra_**

Will has only vague memories of England. Of cobblestones, and rain that tastes of ash. Of a pale woman he thinks was his mother, waiting at the window and muttering curses.

It's hard to believe he once called that grey land his home.

Sometimes he wonders what would have happened to him, had he stayed there. Would he still have become a smith, or something else? Would he have followed his blood to the sea?

He realizes the truth, time and again. He would still have had the medallion.

The pirates would have been his destiny, no matter the island.

** _ii. the blue salt, the sun in the waves splash over you_**

Of the ocean crossing, he remembers even less. Endless toil and sweat, and he was never able to breathe in the ocean. Just choke down bare provisions between bouts of scrubbing and fetching and tying and scrubbing again.

Then came the black sails, and he remembers screams. And fire, and clinging to the boards of the ship as the cold seeped around him. Clutching the medallion like a touchstone, and praying.

Everything goes dark, and the next thing he remembers is _her_, hovering over him, eyes wide.

She promises to watch over him, and that vow lets him sleep again.

** _iii. I watch the bee at its work_**

Port Royal is beautiful, and bright, but for years his light is that of the fire of the forge, and dusty sunlight that streams through the walls.

Will is favored by the governor, it's known, but that doesn't change his status in the least. _Poor orphan_, he thinks, when he catches his reflection in the governor's mirrors, or on the blade of a sword. If not for Elizabeth _(Miss Swann, they remind him)_, he wouldn't even know how to read.

At night, staring into the forge as his master stumbles to the tavern, he swears he will do better.

Someday.

** _iv. avid in the honey of its universe_**

On occasion, Governor Swann invites Will to dine at the mansion. Each time, he accepts with gratitude, and spends the following days huddled in a corner of his mind, worrying about everything that might happen, and nothing at all.

He's not sure when he fell in love with Elizabeth, but when he realizes it, it seems like the proper sort of thing to do.

He's aware of his small obsession with propriety, but it's the only way he knows to conceal the calluses on his hands and thin, rough clothes.

He loves her because she speaks to him by name.

** _v. it comes and it leaves, balancing its straight pale flight_**

After their grand chase across the ocean, he thinks himself a man. When Elizabeth consents to his courtship, he thinks he might become whole.

One day, however, they sit in the parlor, over tea, and aren't able to say a word to each other.

Not, of course, that they don't speak to each other, but each courtesy rings hollow in him.

They are strangers to each other, and he sees the knowledge in her eyes as well.

He bids her farewell the next day, thanks the governor for his kindness, and finds passage on a ship.

He waits in Tortuga.

**_vi. as if it slid on invisible wires_**

He enjoys his stay there, in small and subtle ways.

The way strangers greet him as companion, hand him a drink, provided he does the same. The songs that echo at night, keeping him company as he lies in bed. And his company, as he lies in bed.

He can stretch his arms, _breathe_, and no one looks askance.

He doesn't, however, enjoy the petty cruelty of Tortuga.

The sideways glances from men in dark alleys. The shriek of a woman being beaten on the street, or the groan of pain as someone is stabbed behind the stables.

He wearies.

** _vii. its elegant dance, its thirsty waist_**

He's alone, in a corner of the tavern, when Gibbs finds him. They clink their cups together wordlessly, and when they've finished their drinks, Will follows Gibbs out, to the docks.

To the Black Pearl, and Jack.

Stepping onto the ship feels a little like coming home, except Will doesn't know what home is, really.

He hopes this is a step in the right direction.

He walks directly to the captain's quarters, and doesn't bother to knock.

Anamaria snarls at his poorly timed interruption, but Jack only laughs and bids Will to join them.

He doesn't.

Not that night, anyway.

** _viii. the assassinations of its mean little needle_**

One day, Will kills his first man--a live man, and not one of Barbossa's ghouls.

It was a fair battle, another pirate ship attempting to rob the Pearl while her crew celebrated on a nearby island.

He ran the man through with his sword, and after the battle, stared at the blade in shock.

Gibbs pats him on the shoulder, mutters about the first being the hardest, but Will doesn't acknowledge him.

He made the sword with his own hands, and now it's stained.

It will never be perfect again.

He mourns it as he would for a child.

** _ix. through an orange-and-gasoline rainbow_**

He's happiest when he has a free moment, to stand at the bow and stare at the ocean.

The slap of the waves against the ship echoes like his heartbeat, and he almost shivers with pleasure.

Once in a while, Jack slips up behind him, clacking beads acting as herald. He claps Will on the shoulder.

_He had left bruises there, just last night, grabbing him roughly, and laving the pain away._

"You too, m'boy?"

Will looks at him, confused.

Jack grins, teeth glinting gold. "You hear her, too."

Will returns his gaze to the waves, and he understands.

** _x. it hunts in the grasses_**

He takes no pleasure in gold, or jewels, or rum.

Well, a little in rum, though mostly he revels in Jack's intoxication more than his own.

_The rum spills from the bottle, and from his vantage point, it flows like honey through the air, rippling thickly as it halts, dripping over his torso in a strong, sweet waterfall. Jack hums as he gathers it on his tongue._

The real coin of piracy, Will thinks, is the freedom that it offers, and even that might be too little, if not for the ocean, and Jack.

This isn't home either, Will knows.

** _xi. it flies with a hint of a spike; it disappears_**

The night is calm, and Will lies quietly, satiated. His legs are twined with Jack's, and his arm drapes over Jack's hip.

Something disquiets him, and then Jack speaks.

"It's time, Will."

Will twitches, grazes his lips over Jack's neck to hide it. "For what?"

Jack's body shakes, a quiet chuckle, and then he shifts, faces Will. "You know."

Will contemplates denial, then sighs. "When?"

"We'll sail for Port Royal in the morning."

Will wants to apologize, but Jack silences him with a kiss.

When their lips part, Will is breathless, so Jack, as usual, fills the space between them.

** _xii. while you come naked out of the sea_**

They allow Will to row into Port Royal. Those on the Pearl, of course, didn't dare sail too close.

He ties his dinghy to the dock and silently pays the shilling due.

He finds the nearest tavern, not to drown his sorrows, but to reflect upon them.

Besides, he doesn't have anywhere else to go.

He automatically seeks the table in darkest corner of the tavern, and he's surprised to find Commodore Norrington seated there.

Norrington quirks an eyebrow at his bedraggled appearance--he knows the look of a pirate--but only raises his cup.

Will takes it as invitation.

** _xiii. and return to the world full of salt and sun_**

Night is fallen by the time Will and Norrington leave the tavern.

Will is especially proud that he doesn't stumble as he walks out. A few months ago, he would have. Now, he matches the commodore's stride _(James, he reminds himself)_, stance proud as they ascend to the battlements.

His mind, however, is a little fuzzy. He thinks he wanted to see the ocean again, and Norrington offered to bring him here.

A fair gesture, Will decides, but he halts as the ocean comes into view. It feels like he's breathing easy again, though he hadn't realized the earlier constriction.

** _xiv. reverberating statue, sword in the sand_**

Each time he sees the ocean, the ache strikes him anew.

The guards have grown used to him, poised at the walls, staring out as if he awaited a lover.

Sometimes, Norrington joins him for a few minutes. He stands next to Will long enough that their breathing synchronizes, and they sway, imperceptibly, with the ocean's waves. Then he returns to his duties.

Once in a while, Elizabeth joins him, slipping her hand into his. Amiable, and he doesn't mind the intrusion.

This isn't home, he thinks, as he watches the sea. This isn't home, but maybe it's close enough.


End file.
